


Take Your Shot

by Stacicity



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Relationship negotiation I suppose, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15095081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacicity/pseuds/Stacicity
Summary: Harry walks into Merlin's lab at three in the morning. The rest seems inexorable.





	Take Your Shot

When Harry walked into Merlin’s lab it was well into the small hours of the morning, the room empty of techies bar Merlin. That wasn’t terribly unusual. On busy nights there’d be other handlers here busily guiding Knights through labyrinthine warehouses or advising them through their next steps, but it was a quiet time of year, not many missions to do. 

Worldwide emergencies were just like buses. Nothing for three months and then five would come along at once. Right now it was a low time and the knights were filling their time with little missions, recon and delivery and anything to keep them busy because nothing was worse for HQ than the whole table being there at once and squabbling over the limited facilities. Kingsman wasn’t designed to have a full complement of agents within it.

Tonight in the lab it was just Merlin, watching a screen intently, cup of coffee (undoubtedly stone-cold) halfway to his lips. Harry coughed and he turned, blinking at him for a moment. 

“Oh, it’s you. Medical let you out, did they?” 

“In a manner of speaking. I’m not to leave the manor tonight, but I insisted upon stretching my legs.” 

“Ah.” Harry always had been a terrible patient. Boredom made him restless, liable to snap at the people who were just doing their bloody jobs. Merlin had had a word with him about that on more than one occasion, querying why it was that Harry was only a gentleman when it suited him, and at all other times seemed to see no contradiction in behaving like a petulant brat. 

“I’m fine, anyway. My ribs are a little sore, still, but I ought to be back in the field soon enough. Who are you watching?” 

“Geraint.” 

Harry crossed the room to stand behind Merlin’s chair and watch the screen. Geraint was high up somewhere, probably on a rooftop. It was raining, not too hard, just fine enough to undoubtedly soak the poor chap through without spoiling his visibility too much. Below him there was the glow of headlights, blocks of flats with their windows blacked out or obscured by blinds, one or two fuzzy figures moving in the distance. 

“Poor bastard. I hate sniper jobs.” 

“You make that abundantly clear every time you’re sent on one, Galahad,” Merlin said dryly, looking up at Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry didn’t meet his gaze, still watching the windows through Geraint’s glasses, a thousand tiny screens, little snapshots of lives. There was a couple arguing in one of them, a man rocking a baby in another one. It was all far too domestic. Harry wondered which window Geraint was aiming at. 

“Does he need much handling through it?” 

“No. But I’m not tired, and I suppose he might appreciate the company.” Merlin sighed, rubbing his temples. “You ought to go and rest, Galahad. Pulling an all-nighter straight out of Medical won’t curry you any favour with the nurses.” 

“Oh, they’re a lost cause, they can’t stand me anyway.” 

Merlin shook his head at that. That was patently untrue. Harry could be petulant and rude and bitter but he was still, somehow, charming when he wanted to be. He’d be forgiven soon enough. 

“Besides,” Harry ventured, sounding a little more cautious now, “I thought you might appreciate some company too.” 

Merlin didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but he reached to the side and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a bottle of whisky and lifting it for Harry to take. 

“Glasses are in the kitchenette.” 

That, apparently, was that. Harry took the bottle and went obediently to pour a couple of drinks, pulling up a chair next to Merlin and sitting down in it, movements still a little ginger. He’d been thrown clear across a room by that blast, though, and to get through that without broken bones was quite an achievement. Almost as much as an achievement as managing more than five minutes in Merlin’s lab without being shooed out, let alone scoring a drink out of it. The whisky burned on its way down but the aftertaste was smooth, smoky and peaty. 

Merlin’s lab was a strange place to be when it was empty. The room was really far too big for one person and Merlin’s head gleamed in the half-light as much as the screen did, making him look almost cyborg-like, a part of the furniture, like at the end of the night he might simply plug himself into the wall and recharge that way. Given the choice, Merlin would probably have chosen that, if Harry knew him at all. But he’d just been lectured by one of Kingsman’s doctors about the importance of rest and if he was going to be forced into good habits he wasn’t going to go down alone. 

Geraint shifted on the screen, the view blurring slightly and refocusing. It must have been freezing up there. 

“Where is he?” 

“Toronto.” 

“Oh. Well. At least it’s not snowing.” 

“Cold comfort, I should think.” Merlin rolled the whisky around his glass. “Really this should be something the Statesmen take control of, but they’re otherwise occupied. You know their government tends to take a far dimmer view of their activities.” 

“That’s what comes of a changeover of absolute authority every four years. Every president has a different opinion of how they ought to operate, whether they ought to exist at all. At least we can rely on the monarchy to stand with tradition and keep the House of Commons well away from us.” 

“Mm. Well, it helps to have the benefactors on our side.” 

“Quite.”

“How long’s Geraint been there for?” 

Merlin looked down at his watch, pursing his lips. “Three hours, three and a half. It’s been raining for one. If he can’t find a good enough shot in the next hour or so we’ll give it up for lost and try again tomorrow. No sense in giving him hypothermia over this.” 

“I’m sure he could use the rest,” Harry said pointedly, and Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve no intention of staying up all night watching the rain.” 

“Do you suppose you’ll make it home?” 

Merlin paused. He had quarters here, a little room kept empty for those frequent nights where the gaps between missions were too short for anything but a quick nap to recharge his batteries. Truth be told he ended up using that far more than he did his own flat. He’d never been particularly concerned by the presence or absence of home comforts. A bed was a bed, after all. 

“Not tonight,” he said eventually, sighing. “Lancelot’s headed to Carcassonne early tomorrow morning and Morgana won’t be in to keep an eye on him until nine. I don’t think there’s much trouble he could get into on the ferry, but best not to leave him to his own devices.” 

“Carcassonne? That little medieval city in France?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Why on earth is he going _there_?” 

“There’s a steady flow of tourists year-round and not much in the way of regulation. Besides, it’s walled-up and listed so the presence of modern technology is anathema to their general theme. It means that people are starting to take advantage of the relative lack of surveillance. Lancelot’s going off to take a look and gather some information.”

“Well, lucky him. I could do with a trip to France. Medieval sightseeing, no less.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Merlin looked down into his empty glass and then reached out to top himself up, offering the bottle back to Harry afterwards. “How are your ribs?” 

“Mm? Oh. Fine. I’ve had far worse,” Harry smiled reassuringly. “I think medical are keeping me in to make sure I don’t do anything too strenuous, really, not because I actually need to be looked after.” 

“Can’t you be trusted not to do strenuous activity at home?” Merlin asked, amused, and Harry grinned. 

“Well, that all depends on who’s there. And since you’re not coming home tonight...”

“Annoying the nurses is your prerogative. I’m not about to join in,” Merlin tutted, rolling his eyes, but his expression was soft. Harry took the bottle from him and felt the whisky warming him from the inside out, comfortable in the silence between them. Merlin always had been good company. It came of a life spent in people’s ears, talking them through training and through their missions. Sometimes Harry wondered if he knew how much of an influence he had over the Knights. They were more or less conditioned to seek his approval once they’d gone through training, it was almost Pavlovian. 

Harry made it his mission to seek Merlin’s approval whenever possible. Not least because it kept him from being sent off to freezing rooftops in Toronto most of the time, but because the rewards could be very interesting. They’d shagged a few times, on and off, out of convenience and out of inebriation and then a few times beyond that simply because they both wanted to. They worked well together, so it seemed. Harry reached out to clink his glass to Merlin’s gently and Merlin smiled. 

“What brought you down here anyway, Galahad?” 

“I thought you’d be here.” 

“I often am.” 

“Well, then. What more of an excuse do I need?” Something about the whisky and the strange, drowsy atmosphere in Merlin’s lab was making Harry honest, but Merlin didn’t look put off by it, and that was encouraging enough. Merlin tended to make it known when he was unhappy, and if he wanted Harry to fuck off he was more than capable of telling him.

“No more than that, I’m sure. You could do with a little more professional decorum.” 

“Not at half three in the morning. It’s the witching hour, don’t you know. Time for all manner of chaos and indecorous behaviour.” 

Merlin smiled, opening his mouth to say something, but quickly turned back to the screen at a flicker from it, letting Merlin know that Geraint was speaking. Merlin opened communications between them, leaning forwards, all business now.  
“I’m listening. What is it?”

“I’ve got a shot.” Geraint’s voice sounded a little unsteady, like he was shivering, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for him that he tried to submerge with another gulp of whisky. 

Merlin peered closer to the screen, watching the line of Geraint’s vision down the butt of the rifle he’s holding, looking through the sight and no doubt doing countless complicated calculations in his head, angles and trajectories. 

“Take it.” 

There was a little jolt on the feed as the rifle kicked back against Geraint’s shoulder, then a tense breathless silence as Merlin and Harry waited, listening to the patter of rain and the distant rumble of cars on the Toronto streets. 

“Target has been successfully terminated,” Geraint said finally, and Merlin let out a slow breath, nodding. 

“Alright. Well done, Geraint. We’ll see you home shortly.” 

“I’m off to get out of these clothes, and into a warm bath. Goodnight, Merlin. Geraint out.” 

Merlin switched off the feed and turned back to Harry, silence hanging between them for a moment. 

“That’s that, then.” 

“Bedtime, I should think. For both of us.” 

They held each other’s gaze, quiet, testing, and then Merlin reached out to put his hand on Harry’s. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome, and Harry all but melted into it. Quiet evenings like this seemed all but designed to make him tactile, keen to reach out past the things separating them. 

“Alright. Come on.” Merlin stood, his hand still on Harry’s, picking up his glass and leading Harry by the hand through the lab to the door to his quarters. “You ought to know I’ve no intention of doing anything strenuous with you. I just know you’ll not stop pestering me until I go to bed.”

“Well, if I left now, would you? Or would you sit up all night playing minesweeper?” 

Merlin didn’t answer that, letting go of Harry’s hand to open the door and step inside, pulling his jumper over his head with a sigh. Harry sat down on the end of the bed and watched him, smiling, reaching out when Merlin drifted close enough to hook a finger into the waistband of his trousers and tug him between Harry’s spread legs. Merlin looked down at him, surprised and fond, leaning down obediently when Harry tugged again. Harry tilted his neck up, stretching up for the kiss like Tantalus reaching for forbidden fruit, closing his eyes at the feel of Merlin’s lips against his. He tasted of whisky, they both must have done. 

Merlin put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, gently pushing him onto his back on the mattress, kissing him again and letting Harry work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders impatiently. There was a nip at his bottom lip for that and Harry sighed into the kiss, slowing his pace, doing his best to ignore his natural inclination for hurrying through to whatever pleasure he could get. 

Merlin was always so bloody _patient_. Patient enough that it had taken Harry months of flirting to get so much as a kiss out of him, though things had progressed rather quickly once they’d broken that barrier. Patient enough that all of Harry’s teasing and flirting and poking fell short in the face of Merlin’s ability to wait without comment until Harry gave in and let him dictate the pace. He was good at direction. Good at picking his moment, and right now was a moment he wanted to savour. 

Tomorrow, it would be all business again. Merlin and Galahad. But these little interactions of theirs were getting more and more frequent and they were starting to bleed into the daytime, seeping like ink into the starched professionalism they were both so very good at. Merlin ought to have minded that very much, but he didn’t seem to. Maybe a hand on his shoulder in the morning if Harry decided to bring him coffee was a small concession to the affection between them that he could just about manage. Harry would take what he could get. He’d always been greedy like that. 

He reached down to grope at Merlin’s arse with both hands and Merlin let out an exasperated noise, pulling away from the kiss and tugging at the hospital-issue sweatpants Harry was wearing. 

“ _Alright_ , damn you. Get those off.” 

Harry complied with alacrity, tugging them off and watching keenly as Merlin undid his belt, pushing his trousers off his hips and his underwear with them, toeing off his shoes clumsily and falling into bed, socks still on. Harry wasted no time in gathering Merlin in his arms, every inch of that long, pale body, feeling the muscles that he kept hidden under layers of wool and cashmere. They fit together far better than they should have, Harry’s leg between Merlin’s thighs where he was already half-hard. No hiding that behind professional decorum. 

Merlin put a hand on Harry’s chest again, fingers splayed, pushing him back gently. Harry opened his mouth to complain about that, keen to have Merlin as close as possible thank you so very much, but before he could Merlin’s lips were on his again and suddenly he was straddling Harry’s hips. And that – that was alright. That was very alright. 

“I don’t suppose,” Harry murmured when they parted for breath, running his hands up Merlin’s sides and then pressing his hips up for a good, slow grind, “you have any lube hidden around here?” 

“I don’t suppose we’ll need it.” 

Harry pursed his lips, almost pouting at that. It had been a long day for both of them, he was sure. He’d been climbing the walls in Medical and Merlin had been sat behind his desk watching people shoot guns and save the world, and nothing took away tension better than a good hard fuck. Perhaps putting lube here was too much of a concession to how regular this was becoming, an admission that what had started as a quick fumble was becoming something of a routine. 

When Harry had walked into Merlin’s lab at three in the morning the path of where it would take them had been set from the moment Merlin offered him a drink, and they both knew it. 

Merlin was pushing his hips down harder, now, the slide of their cocks together enough to make Harry tip his head back and gasp for breath. Well, if he couldn’t be fucked, he’d settle for Merlin’s body against his, better still when Merlin reached down to them both in hand, and _God_ , yes, that... 

Harry was just starting to wonder whether this was all Merlin hand in mind when Merlin stopped, pulled back, bent to press a smattering of kisses along Harry’s collarbone. His fingers were feeling over Harry’s ribs, cautious, and Harry squirmed underneath his touch. 

“Christ, don’t tickle me, I’ll end up throwing you off,” he warned, and Merlin huffed out a laugh. 

“Throwing me out of my own bed? You’d never be so cruel.” 

“Tickling is a crime deserving of the most heinous punishment,” Harry grumbled, doing his best to sound stern and failing miserably. If Merlin wanted to spread him out like one of his butterflies and explore each inch of him, who was he to complain? And he seemed to be doing just that, tracing the edge of the bruising on Harry’s ribs where it was going purple and green and yellow. 

Harry pushed his hips up a little and Merlin shook his head, shuffling backwards on the bed so Harry can’t twist and thrust and goad him into any movement. Harry let his head fall back against the headboard with a solid _thunk_ , ignoring the pain and closing his eyes. 

“What _are_ you playing at?” 

Merlin didn’t reply for a while, still tracing those bruises, and Harry felt the mattress move as he shifted position again. When he next spoke Harry felt a warm puff of breath against his cock and he barely restrained himself from thrusting up into it. Hitting Merlin in the face with his prick was hardly conducive to an intimate atmosphere, even if the very image of the look on Merlin’s face was enough to make him snort, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. He opened his eyes to see Merlin looking up at him with an unimpressed expression clearly pasted over a fond smile. 

“I’m rarely in a position to watch you and touch you,” Merlin murmured. “I’d like to take my time over it.” 

“You can touch me anytime you like,” Harry breathed, and Merlin’s eyes burned at that, piercing into him. God. He was ruined for anybody else, now, wasn’t he? Nobody in the whole wide world could look at him and turn him inside out like Merlin. 

“I know. But I don’t,” Merlin said finally, and Harry nodded, conceding that point. Neither of them seemed to have established what they wanted out of this yet. They’d have to, soon, it was getting _embarrassing_ , fussing and pressing at each other’s boundaries, testing what was acceptable when Harry was sure, he was _certain_ , that all they wanted was to collapse into a cupboard somewhere and just let go of whatever inhibitions were still holding them back. 

Merlin leaned forwards to press his lips to the head of Harry’s cock and Harry’s head fell back again as he stared at the ceiling, feeling the slow slide of lips around him. Merlin really was taking his time, dragging out each second and moving at what felt like a millimetre a second. It was absolutely maddening and Harry could feel himself trembling a little underneath him. Which was pathetic, they’d barely started, but Merlin seemed to have a habit of making him shake and tremble and wind himself up to a point of tension where he felt like one of those whisky glasses with a wet finger rubbed round it, singing out a note right up to the point where it might shatter and break. It was probably worth shattering for, all things considered. 

“Christ...God, yes, _Merlin_ ,” Harry breathed, eyes squeezed shut as he felt a hand take a firm hold of him at the base, Merlin’s tongue doing wonderful, terrible things to him. Each slide Merlin took forwards had Harry swearing, stomach muscles tensing as he tried to resist the urge to curl forwards and inwards, hold Merlin there with his thighs and chase whatever pleasure he could get. There was something awful and lovely about waiting like this, letting Merlin take his time, waiting to be given something – anything. One thing Harry could say for Merlin: he’d never yet left him unsatisfied. But he always seemed to be playing his own game with it, one way or another. 

He felt Merlin’s tongue depress, throat relaxing around him and suddenly he was sliding forwards and forwards and oh – Harry felt the sharp point of Merlin’s nose buried in his pubic hair and he swore, making a grab for Merlin’s shoulders for some sort of anchorage point to moor himself with, clinging on and breathing harshly as Merlin just held. What manner of inhuman control he had over his throat to conquer his gag reflex Harry didn’t know, but he was as grateful for it as he was jealous of it right now. 

And then Merlin drew back, letting Harry’s prick fall from his mouth with a wet pop and slap against his stomach. Harry took a few more shaky breaths and opened his eyes, tugging at Merlin’s shoulder again in the absence of any hair to grab at, pulling him back up to kiss him deeply. Whisky and cock was not the most appetizing of combinations but Harry had tasted worse and he’d have dealt with about anything to kiss Merlin then. He could feel Merlin’s cock against his again, still hard and rigid and twitching against his own, and Harry was tired of waiting, now. 

Making a mental note that he’d have to exact some sort of payback – perhaps pushing Merlin to the bed and riding him until he begged, that sounded appealing – Harry reached down to take both of them in hand, squeezing and relishing in the little grunt Merlin let out at that. He tilted his head, mouthing at that pale neck, and felt Merlin’s fingers tangling in his hair, pulling enough to make him gasp. 

Harry’s cock was already slick enough with Merlin’s saliva that it was an easy slide, and they fell into a rhythm soon enough, hips thrusting, Harry’s shoulder in Merlin’s mouth presumably to muffle any further sounds. It was a pity. Merlin’s voice took on a lovely broken quality when he was about to come. The blood was rushing in Harry’s ears enough, though, that he wouldn’t have heard much anyway, and he buried his face in the sweat-damp crook of Merlin’s neck. 

It was a bite to his shoulder that finally did it, making Harry jerk and gasp and spill over his own hand and Merlin’s cock, heart racing in his chest. Merlin let out a sound that was almost a _growl_ and Harry pushed aside his own desire to melt into the pillows, shimmying down Merlin’s body. That slow and steady technique was all very well but Harry sucked cock like it was a treat and a mission, laving his tongue over it and pushing forwards until he felt the blunt head nudging at the back of his throat. Merlin’s hands were still tangled in his hair and they clenched tight for a second. Harry shuddered at that, hoping for a moment that Merlin might hold him there and press forward, but he relaxed his hold a second later and arched his back instead. 

Harry reached up with one hand to squeeze Merlin’s balls, rolling them in his palm gently, velvet skin against his calloused palm, and Merlin hissed through his teeth, always so quiet, Harry couldn’t understand why himself. There wasn’t anybody to hear them in the lab and he could scarcely be persuaded not to scream the whole of the bloody manor down. How Merlin kept his noises to himself was beyond him, but it did mean that each sound Harry coaxed out of him was its own sweet reward, something to aspire to. 

Sometimes Harry wondered if his tendency towards competition was strictly healthy. Then again, nothing they did at HQ was healthy. This was probably as close to normality as they got. 

Merlin arched beneath him again and Harry had time to suck in a quick breath through his nose before he felt a hot spurt of salt over his tongue and at the back of his throat. A lesser man might have coughed but Harry wasn’t about to ruin his international reputation for blowjobs _now_. A man ought to have a hobby, just as Lady Bracknell said, and this was as good a skill to perfect as any. 

He stayed where he was between Merlin’s thighs, licking him clean until Merlin squirmed and batted at his shoulder, over-sensitive, tugging him back up to lie next to him while they both caught their breath. 

He looked desperately attractive like this in the dim light, each sharp angle on his nose and his cheekbones catching the light, lips slightly parted. He looked ethereal. Harry stared unabashedly until Merlin turned to meet his eyes, sighing and leaning in for another kiss, this one slow and tender. 

“We ought to talk. About this. Whatever this is.” 

“Probably,” Harry agreed quietly, sliding a hand down Merlin’s side again to cup his hip and keep him close. They were both sweaty and damp, mildly disgusting, and he didn’t give a shit. These moments of closeness were too few and too precious to spoil with being squeamish. 

“Galahad-“

“Harry.” Harry met Merlin’s eyes again, lips twitching into a smile that probably looked pathetically hopeful, but really. “This isn’t business.”

“No. It’s not.” Merlin’s brow furrowed and Harry’s breath caught in his throat, words tumbling out of him in a sudden rush. 

“I don’t care to stand on ceremony. I don’t want to be wined and dined and given flowers, What we have now, whatever this is, it’s good. I like talking to you, I like being with you, I’m excessively fond of your prick, and whatever _that_ is, it's enough that I can't help but want more of it every single day. That's worth something. Isn’t it?” 

Merlin watched Harry for a while and Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling like a specimen all over again, before he was tugged in for another kiss that melted into a cuddle, Harry’s head on Merlin’s chest and their legs tangled together. 

“It’s still grossly unprofessional. I won’t have you trying to shag me in the lab. Or in the corridors. Or-“

“I’ll behave.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Merlin’s voice was softer now, fonder, and Harry didn’t have to look up to see that his eyes were closed. 

“I’m capable of all manner of unbelievable things given the right incentive, you know.” 

“Hush. Go to sleep, Harry. We can talk about it more in the morning.” 

When Harry slept, he did so with the taste of whisky and Merlin in his mouth, the sound of rain in his ears, and a lightness in his chest he hadn't felt in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure in case you hadn't already guessed, I have never written smut in my life. That being said I've been reading it since it was called "lemons" so hopefully that's contributed to it not being too terrible. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at ajcrawly!


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